


Dragon Age 100

by TheBatchild



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, all the companions are there too, in varying degrees, or most of them anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:04:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3654789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBatchild/pseuds/TheBatchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>100 moments based on a challenge-post-thing on Tumblr: life, love, friendship, and the most memorable moments in the journeys of Rowan Cousland, Vega Hawke, and Isobel Trevelyan. And also Eden Trevelyan because Cullen. </p><p>Here is the original post, including a list of the themes for each moment: http://mxcatterbug.tumblr.com/post/113139610914/dragon-age-100-challenge</p><p>My moments will feature my main characters from each game and their LIs, plus their closest friends. I didn't bother listing everyone because that would take forever. All the companions will likely make an appearance at some point. These moments are a daily exercise for me, so apologies for any mistakes or anything that I miss. </p><p>This is like, the worst summary ever, but how do you do a summary for a collection of moments such as these?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair/Rowan
> 
> At the beginning of their journey, the pair shares a moment of friendship that hints toward what they mean to each other now and will come to mean later.

The night was mild—an unexpected and very welcome change from the chill of the previous evening. Hoots and screams of darkspawn drifted up from the valley beneath the hill where the party had set up camp, but Rowan paid them little mind—the beasts were hunting and fighting as they did every night. She sat at the edge of the fire, her head tilted up to look at the stars above, the bright points of light brilliant in the inky black. 

The ache from the loss of her parents was still strong, and only amplified by the loss at Ostagar, by the fact they had barely escaped; her eyes itched with unshed tears, just like every night. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to go on. She knew she had to, since her and Alistair were the only Grey Wardens left in Ferelden and they had a Blight to stop, but disappearing into the inky black expanse above her seemed the far better alternative. 

If only it were possible. 

“May I join you?”

Rowan looked up as Alistair approached. He wasn’t wearing his armour, just a pair of leather breeches, his boots, and a cream-coloured tunic, but he carried his sword sheathed at his side. His hair was tousled from sleep, though from the look in his eyes, Rowan thought that maybe he hadn’t achieved much. She knew the feeling.  

She shuffled over on the blanket she’d placed on the ground and patted the ground beside her. Alistair settled there and set his sword beside him. He braced his arms on his bent knees.

“Can’t sleep?” Rowan asked. 

Alistair shook his head, and rubbed at his face with one hand. “Nightmares.”

“Darkspawn or Ostagar?” 

He cocked at eyebrow at her, and Rowan gave him a small smile she meant to be encouraging. “Both,” he said. “We weren’t there, but I keep seeing Duncan…” His voice trailed off, his eyes falling to the fire, though he wasn’t looking at the flames. “I still can’t believe he’s gone…”

Rowan moved closer until her shoulder touched his. She felt tension tighten his shoulders and arm, but didn’t react to it. They’d had an odd chemistry since they’d met, but any physical contact had been limited to what was necessary. This was not necessary. Alistair didn’t pull away however, and after a few heartbeats, he relaxed, leaning into the contact slightly. Had they been closer, Rowan might have leaned her head on his shoulder.

“I dream about my parents every time I close my eyes,” she said quietly. “And those dreams scare me more than any of the others.” 

“Why?”

“Because I keep wondering what if I could have saved them? What if there was more I could have done?” Rowan drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, holding herself in a ball. “I feel like I ran away. I know my parents told me to go, and Duncan knew staying to fight would have been suicide, but…” 

Alistair reached over and placed a hand tentatively on her arm. “What if we had stayed with Duncan and the king rather than go to the tower? What if we had fought the darkspawn on the ground?”

Rowan chuckled, but tried to suppress it, the noise coming out as more of a snort than a laugh. It wasn’t a happy noise. “I guess we could waste away our lives wondering what if.” 

Tears prickled at her eyes again and she pressed her face into her arm to stifle her emotions. Alistair’s hand moved to her shoulder, awkwardly rubbing a small circle along her upper back. Silence settled around them again, the noises of the darkspawn distant and all but forgotten. Rowan let herself cry for a short while, hoping none of their other companions would hear her weakness. She knew Alistair would say nothing against her to anyone. She felt safe with him. 

When she had reigned herself in, she looked up at Alistair. “Sorry,” she murmured.

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “We all get emotional when we have so little sleep… even Morrigan. Probably.”

Rowan gave a small laugh in spite of herself. She poked Alistair in the arm. “It’s going to be a long Blight if you two can’t be nice to each other.”

“Who’s not being nice? I’m being nice. I’m always nice.” 

Rowan’s smile was genuine, even as she rolled her eyes. She wiped away the remaining tears and leaned heavier against Alistair. His hand slipped along her shoulders until he could wrap his arm around her. Rowan gave into the thought she’d had before, and lay her head on his shoulder. It wasn’t a romantic gesture, not really, but one of comfort and shared pain. Alistair once against stiffened, but said nothing and did not pull away. 

The sounds of the darkspawn eventually faded as the night pressed in around them, and eventually it felt, to Rowan, as if her and Alistair were alone in the world with their comfortable silence.  


	2. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iron Bull/Isobel (affectionately known as Bizzy) 
> 
> Shortly after they realize the true depth of their feelings for one another, and shortly after killing another dragon, Bull and Isobel share words that are almost as good as "I love you."

The high dragon Vinsomer collapsed with one last hiss of her lightning breath. Electricity crackled in the air for a moment, and Isobel and her companions stood ready, waiting to see if there was any life, any fight left in the beast.  

When the dragon didn’t move again, Isobel bent over at the waist and braced her fists on her knees, her daggers still gripped tightly in her hands as the breath wooshed out of her. She sucked in a deep breath as she straightened, and sheathed her weapons after wiping them on the grass at her feet; she’d clean them better back at Skyhold. The Inquisitor cast her eyes about the battleground then, surveying the dragon’s corpse, the damage the battle had done to the scenery, and the state of her companions. 

Dorian and Cassandra had moved off to one side, away from the blood and gore, to tend to the minor burns covering one side of the mage’s back, and Iron Bull was looting the dragon for anything useful or valuable. There was blood dripping into his good eye from a gash on his forehead, but he didn’t seem overly concerned. 

But then, Bull rarely seemed concerned about anything.

Thankfully, none of them had been hurt too badly this time. This was the third high dragon they’d hunted down, and they were developing an effective method, but every fight was a thrilling, as terrifying as the last. 

She gave her head a small shake, one hand rising to touch the dragon-tooth pendant she wore beneath her tunic, the one symbolizing her relationship with Bull. Her body was nearly vibrating with the adrenaline, the thrill banishing the exhaustion in her limbs.

“There is no reason to look so shocked, kadan!” 

Isobel’s head snapped up as Bull approached, a wide grin on his face. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her clear off her feet as he spun them around. A wild laugh brought on by surprise escaped her throat, a laugh that continued when he set her back on her feet. Her arms stayed about the big qunari. 

“We won!” he said, one hand sliding down her beck. “And we are all fine, Izzy—the mage will heal—”

“The mage might heal if someone was more gentle with my burns!” Dorian interjected loudly.

Isobel peered around Bull’s bulk, and caught sight of Cassandra giving Dorian a gentle smack on the shoulder. “If you would stay still, I could be more gentle.”

“You couldn’t be gentle if you tried,” Dorian snapped, but he remained still.

Isobel chuckled, pressing her face into Bull’s arm to muffle the noise. Bull gave her a firm pat on the rear, drawing a yelp from her, and bringing her attention back to him. She looked up into his face to find a tender cast to his features, one reserved for when they were alone; with his back to the others though, the look would remain private, as would what was transpiring between them. The others knew

“You are uninjured, kadan?” he asked, voice low.

Isobel nodded. “A few bumps and bruises, nothing more. I’ll be sore for a couple days, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” She threw a salacious wink at him.

Bull used his hand on her body to pull her close in response. “I don’t doubt it.”

“What about you?” Isobel pushed herself up onto her tiptoes and wiped the blood from his face with her hand. 

“It’s nothing.” He grabbed her wrist, holding hard enough to hurt, just a bit, and brought her arm to his mouth. He placed a kiss at the base of her wrist, just above her leather bracers. He smirked when Isobel’s gaze turned dark, lustful. “Just a scratch.” 

Isobel’s hands slid along Bull’s chest and stomach when he let go, and then she sighed and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. She felt Bull chuckle, but one of his hands ran over her hair, significantly messier than usual after the battle. The softer moments of their relationship were still new enough to take them by surprise sometimes, though they both knew the depths of the other’s feelings—the necklaces they wore were a symbol of that. 

“Promise me you’ll bring me on every dragon hunt, kadan.” 

Isobel looked up at him again, one eyebrow raised. “I have already promised you that, Bull, but I suppose I can promise again if you need me too.”

He cupped her chin gently with one hand as she took half a step back. His face turned serious. “I don’t want you hunting dragons without me, Izzy. I want to be here to keep you safe.” 

It was Isobel’s turn to grip his wrist, though her hold was more of a touch. “I wouldn’t dream of coming without you, Bull.” 

They shared a look, and then Bull, moving quickly, lifted Isobel and tossed her over his shoulder, being careful to keep her from hitting his horn. “All right then. Let’s go home.”

Isobel’s laughter led the team from the battleground, Cassandra and Dorian rolling their eyes, and the Seeker carrying their spoils on her back.


	3. Hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris/Vega
> 
> Hatred is a funny thing, and very rarely actually means what you think it does.

“You’ve been crying.” 

Vega rolled her eyes, a soft scoff coming in time with the motion. Her face was wet and her eyes red and puffy—it would have been plain to just about anyone that she’d been crying. “Oh really?” she snapped. “I could have sworn I’d spent the last twenty minutes laughing through the streets.”

Fenris took an uncertain step towards her, one hand rising like he’d try to touch her, but when Vega flinched away, the hand dropped back to his side. “Why are you here?”

“I don’t know.” 

Silence fell then, and it wasn’t comfortable. 

Vega and Fenris had been mostly at odds since they’d met, disagreeing and arguing about nearly everything, large or small. Their friends and companions had even started betting on the outcome of each conflict, much to Vega and Fenris’ annoyance. 

But, in conjunction with the anger and the hatred, there had been something else. They trusted each other on the battlefield, and had saved each other more than once; their styles of battle were complimentary and worked well together. Fenris backed Hawke when her decisions and actions were challenged by outsiders. Vega had promised Fenris they’d do what they could to get him his revenge against Denarius, the man who had enslaved him, and she seemed to be the only one capable of getting through to him when he was enraged; it didn’t matter if he was angry with her or someone else, he still listened to her, responded to her.

“Hawke,” Fenris said when the silence became too much, “why did you come here?”

She took a few steps towards him. He was standing in front of the fireplace, the flames the only illumination in the room, in the mansion; the fire cast Fenris’ face into shadow, but faint shimmers from his lyrium markings allowed Vega to pick out flickers of emotion as she approached. 

“I don’t know,” she said, voice harsh. Vega wrapped her arms around herself. Her eyes dropped to the floor a moment later. She kicked an empty wine bottle and sent it skittering across the floor and into the wall. It cracked, but didn’t break. “I hate this place.”

“No one said you had to come here. I’d be just as happy to be left alone.”

Vega snorted, the noise turning to a sob. She looked up at Fenris, her eyes narrowing again. “You’re never happy.”

“You’re looking for a fight.”

“What if I am? You hate me. Let’s fight.”

Fenris took a half-step toward her, his bearing turning threatening, but Vega didn’t back away. She set her jaw, squared her shoulders, and met his gaze. His eyes bored into her, and fresh tears trickled down her cheeks, but she kept herself from sobbing, from moving to wipe them clear from her skin. For a moment, Vega was sure Fenris was going to start yelling. Or maybe their bickering would finally escalate to a physical confrontation. 

But he didn’t yell. He didn’t shove her away. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. His voice was quiet, but no less intense than it normally was. 

“What do you care?” 

“Vega.” 

It was her first name more than anything else that finally brought the words to her lips, made her let go of the desire to fight. “Bethany left with the Grey Wardens tonight. Told me not to try and contact her.” Hawke tightened her arms about her torso and turned her back on Fenris, pacing along the path normally reserved for his heated musings. “She’s furious with me for coming through the Expedition with barely a scrape, and for giving her to the Grey Wardens—I did not give her to the Grey Wardens!” She turned and faced Fenris, who was watching her with a stoic expression. “I saved her life. Would she rather I had let her die? Does she think it was easy for me to make that decision? Does she think I could have stood by and watched her die at the hands of the darkspawn like Carver?” Vega scowled and raked her fingers back through her hair, pulling strands of hair from her low ponytail. Tears were falling freely now. “She told me I was no sister to her, that she hated me. She wouldn’t even let me speak.”

Fenris stepped in front of Vega, stopping her pacing so abruptly that she ran into him. She slapped a palm against his chest, though she wanted to shove him away. 

“Why did you come here? The mage is your friend.”

Vega sighed. “Because… because Anders was the one who suggested Bethany join the Grey Wardens?” The answer sounded thin even to Hawke. “Because you make me feel safe, Fenris. You always have my back, no matter what enemy we’re facing, even if I have no idea what I’m doing. And I really don’t know what I’m doing right now.” She sniffed back a sob. “Besides, you’re not going to tell anyone about this, and you hate me, so you’re not going to give me any false comfort.”

Fenris was silent for a few moments, watching Vega. She couldn’t make out any of the flashes of emotion from earlier; he was controlling his expressions carefully. “I don’t hate you,” he said finally. “But I won’t give you any false comfort.”

Vega was unsuccessful in keeping the surprise from her face, but, she told herself, it really shouldn’t have come as that much of a shock. She didn’t hate Fenris either, as much as they fought. He kept her on her toes, and she liked that he didn’t blindly agree with her. A small smile pulled at her mouth. 

“You have any wine?” 


	4. Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isobel and Dorian friendship (they have a friendship ship name -- it's Dizzy. Because I'm an idiot.)
> 
> The Inquisitor gets Dorian and herself lost in a cave. Whoops.

The downside to exploring the wilderness was occasionally getting lost, and currently, Isobel and Dorian were very, very lost. 

“Remind me again how splitting into two parties was a good idea?”

Isobel scowled and flung a slap in the general direction of Dorian’s shoulder. She hit something that felt more like his back, but he still grunted a noise somewhere between pain and laughter, which was all she looking for. 

“We have a lot of ground to cover—that artifact could be anywhere.”

“Are we on some sort of time table I’m not aware of?”

Isobel ignored her friend and peered deeper into the cave. There was very little light, but she could make out the outline of the rock walls, thanks mostly to several crops of deep mushrooms. The pale blue light guided the down the tunnel, but as the ground sloped and led them further underground, the fungi became less and less frequent. 

Somewhere above them, Iron Bull and Cole were exploring the forest. Isobel had sent them that way, since Cole wasn’t overly fond of caves, but they clearly had the better end of the deal. It didn’t help that Isobel wasn’t as proficient at navigating as she probably should be. 

The last clump of deep mushrooms passed into shadow, leaving Inquisitor and companion in a thick and icky darkness neither of them could see through.

Behind Isobel, Dorian groaned. “Ugh, now it’s really dark.” 

Isobel fought to keep herself from snickering; the mage’s sarcasm had a way of brightening any situation or mood. “Dorian, you’re a mage.”

“Oh, right. How silly of me to forget.”

There was a snap and a hiss, and then there was a soft light, emanating from a small ball of flame-coloured light hovering above Dorian’s palm. Isobel met his eyes through the magic and he gave her a mischievous grin.

“Why didn’t you cast that earlier?”

“Payback for getting us lost, dearest Isobel.”

She rolled her eyes again and started back along the path. 


	5. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vega and Sebastian friendship. They don't have a friendship ship name...
> 
> A brief discussion about religion and belief in the early morning light.

Sebastian was kneeling in front of the largest window in the manor, bathed in the early-morning sunshine as he recited verses from the Chant of Light. The sun turned his hair to fire and glinted off his polished white armour; if Vega hadn't known any better, she might have thought he was a benevolent spirit come from the Fade he looked so otherworldly. She leaned in the doorway of the room, her arms crossed loosely over her chest as she listened to his voice sail over the words. There was a small smile on her face--she found the ritual both comforting and oddly fascinating. 

She was not very religious or devout, and she'd never understood those who could give themselves to the Chantry as completely as Sebastian had, but she didn't begrudge anyone that choice. It was also refreshing to have someone like Sebastian around. He offered a different view on most situations than the rest of her rag-tag group of companions, most of whom lived their lives on the fringe of society. On a purely personal note, he was also the only member of her company that didn't give her a hard time about her relationship with Fenris. 

When Sebastian finished, he rose smoothly to his feet and retrieved his bow and quiver from where he'd leaned them against the wall. He stood in front of Vega as she righted herself, a knowing set to his expression. This was not the first time Vega had evesdropped on him, and she'd apparently done it enough that he expected her to be there. 

"You are welcome to join me in reciting the Chant, Vega. You don't have to stand in the doorway and watch." 

She gave him a lopsided grin and they walked together through the house, heading for the dining area; they would be leaving for the Wounded Coast in about an hour's time, but Fenris and Anders had yet to arrive, and Vega had yet to eat. Her stomach grumbled as they walked. 

"You know I'm not very religious, Sebastian," she said as they settled themselves around the dining room table--it too was soaked in the warmth of the sun, and Vega closed her eyes for a moment, face turned to bask in the light. It was a nice change after several days of rain. The minimal staff Hawke employed had prepared a simple but filling breakfast, and Vega was eager to dig in. "I think I'll leave you your role as the devout one." 

He gave a small chuckle as he helped himself to a plate of fruit. "You do believe though, and you take comfort in observing my ritual."

Vega raised an eyebrow. "Of course I believe, but I've never taken much solace in the ways of the Chantry. No offence intended," she added quickly. "But you recite those verses of the Chant of Light every time we leave the city, and it's become..." Vega shrugged. "I don't know exactly, but it's comforting for me to hear you say those verses. It doesn't feel right to leave without hearing you say those words." Sebastian smiled, but said nothing, sensing Vega had more on her mind. She picked at the piece of meat on her plate, her blue eyes taking on a faraway look. "I've had a hard time believing in anything since Lothering fell," she admitted. "How could the Maker allow such atrocity to happen? Almost everyone in Lothering died... And the rest were left injured and without anywhere to go. But there's something reaffirming in knowing you, Sebastian, and in listening to you recite the words." 

She shook her head suddenly. "I'm babbling." 

But Sebastian was smiling. "Maybe a little, but I think I know what you're getting at." Vega returned the smile and chewed her mouthful of food slowly, thoughtfully, matching Sebastian's gaze. "If you'd like, I can say the words when I arrive here whenever I'm to accompany you. We won't call it a blessing though."

Vega's smile turned wry, but it was no less genuine. She genuinely appreciated Sebastian's offer, and his ongoing willingness to accommodate her eccentricities. He was so different from the rest of them, but Vega now counted him among her closest friends.

"Thank you, Sebastian."

Sebastian threw her a roguish wink--a nod to his ways before giving himself to the Chantry--and Vega laughed. 


	6. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair/Rowan
> 
> Ostagar is cold and empty, haunted by old memories, but Rowan and Alistair have each other to help them through the pain.

Ostagar loomed out of the snow and mist ahead of them, and Rowan's breath caught in her throat. She cast a look to her right, to where Alistair stood, looking up at the tower where they'd faced the ogre and nearly died. His face was hard and unreadable, and she knew he was dreading stepping into those ruins, into the past; she wasn't even sure she was ready for it, and Ostagar hadn't hit her anywhere near as hard as it has Alistair. Rowan moved to stand beside Alistair, her boots crunching on the fresh snow. The noise drew his attention to her, and he gave her a watery smile, devoid of his normal sarcasm or joy.

"I didn't think we'd ever be back here," he mused.

"Me either," she replied with a small shake of her head. "Are you okay to do this? We don't know what we'll find." 

He was silent for a few heartbeats, the only sound the wind in the pine trees, and the crunching snow as Wynne knelt to harvest some herbs poking through to the surface. "It's not going to easy, but yes, I am. I think... Duncan deserves a proper burial, and his things shouldn't be left to the darkspawn." Alistair's eyes narrowed at the thought, then his expression turned sad as he warred with some memory or thought. "Cailan as well," he added, voice betraying the same melancholy as his face.

Rowan closed the distance between them. She didn't touch him, though she wanted to, but somehow it didn't feel appropriate, not the edge of a place home to such recent death. She held Alistair's gaze when he dropped his eyes to her face, and let him see her own pain, to let him know he wasn't alone. He dropped his forehead against hers and Rowan closed her eyes. If Alistair felt comfortable initiating it, than she was okay with an intimate display. 

"On second thought, I don't know if I'm ready for this," he whispered, his voice taking on the edge of a desperate laugh. 

She pulled her gloves off and tucked them in her belt as she opened her eyes. "Me either," she said. "I can't imagine how this must be for you." Her bare hands came to rest on his cheeks, fingertips tracing the curve of his jaw, thumbs sliding across his skin. "If you want to stop, or go back..."

"No, no. What I said before is the truth, and we need to see it done."

He placed a quick kiss on Rowan's lips and then pulled back, the snow crunching as he took a few steps towards the former camp. The feeling of the kiss lingered, but there would be time enough for that sort of comfort later, and if it was needed. Rowan sighed, her breath clouding the air in front of her. She looked back at Wynne, who was watching with a motherly look on her face, and then pulled her gloves back on before following Alistair's path; Roscoe bounded ahead of everyone, frolicking in the snow as he had since he was a puppy. Rowan heard Alistair chuckle as he watched the mabari run, and she smiled. This day would be sad and difficult, but grief would not be all there was. 

Wynne broke apart as they entered Ostagar to investigate the remains of the mage encampment, intent on finding something to commemorate those who had been slain in the battle, or anything that might still be useful. The Grey Wardens who had planned to check the location where Duncan's tent had once stood, as well as whatever was left of the king's tent, ended up back at the place they'd first met instead. 

"I can't imagine what you must have thought of me," Alistair said after a moment of surveying the raised platform; it might have been a room at some point, but time had robbed it of proper walls and ceiling. "Bickering as I was when you made your grand entrance." 

Rowan took the small smile on his face as a good sign, and went with the line of conversation. She scoffed. "I don't know about grand entrance, but I did wonder what I was getting into. First Duncan shows up all mysterious and stoic, and then I meet you, and you're the complete opposite. I honestly wasn't sure what to make of the Grey Wardens." 

Alistair chuckled. For a second, he watched Roscoe playing in the snow. Rowan could almost see the memories playing across his face. "I'm glad Duncan talked you into joining us."

"Well," Rowan said, moving to stand beside him, "it was either that, or wander the world on my own, looking for my brother." Rowan sighed against the flush of the memories--her brother's wife and son murdered, the house overrun, people dying, screaming left and right...--and forced herself to meet Alistair's eyes again, to smile. He took her hand, and she smiled wider. When she looked at him, it was easier to push the dark memories aside, to focus on what was good in her life. "But I made the right choice, and not just because Duncan kept me alive." 

"He thought you were the best of the recruits." 

Rowan snorted. "I certainly was the luckiest," she said sadly. She squeezed Alistair's hand. "I wish I could have known him better."

"I think you two would have got along quite well. You both certainly enjoy putting me in my place." 

Rowan's face furrowed and she elbowed Alistair playfully. "You make it so easy." They laughed, but it was a short-lived moment of frivolity. "Do you... do you wish you could have known the king better?"

For a heartbeat, Rowan was sure Alistair wasn't going to answer, or was going to be angry with her for asking such a thing, but then he sighed and ran his free hand back through his hair, shaking lose a few snowflakes that had settled there. "I would have like to have known him as a brother, and not just a king."

Rowan leaned into him, the leather of her armour scraping against the metal plates of his. "I am sorry that chance was taken from you." 

He sighed again, and opened his mouth to speak, but Roscoe barked then, drawing their attention to the end of what must have once been a ballroom. The walls and windows were gone, replaced by thick-growing pine trees, and coming out of those trees were darkspawn. Rowan and Alistair separated and drew their weapons, preparing to meet the attack. 

"Let's not let them take our chance to get to know _each other_ better then, eh?" 

Rowan rolled her eyes but nodded, one corner of her mouth rising. 

Wynne arrived a heartbeat later, and together, the four companions drove the darkspawn from Ostagar. 


	7. Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isobel and Cole friendship
> 
> Through all the death he's seen, Cole remains something of an innocent.   
> (Oh, and Grayson is another one of my Inquisitors, who is also Isobel's twin. When one of them is the Inquisitor, the other one is at Skyhold as a soldier/personal adviser/sibling/whatever.)

Isobel walked along the walls of Skyhold with her hands clasped behind her back, eyes roving the mountainous countryside around the fortress. Demons and darkspawn didn't venture that close to Skyhold--not willingly anyway--but the Inquisitor always felt better if she walked the walls before she slept to see that all was calm. The Inquisition had been at Skyhold long enough for her to feel secure in her knowledge of every inch of the place, and she walked with confidence, knowing where to avoid in order to not disturb anyone. She smiled to herself as she stopped in one of her favourite locations and turned to watch the small river tumble across the grass and down the mountainside. Isobel had been reluctant to accept the position of Inquisitor and the responsibilities the title would entail, but she'd found she was quite comfortable at Skyhold, helping those who came to her. She didn't think she was the Herald of Andraste, but she accepted that others saw her that way, and was happy to provide whatever aid she could. After a moment, she sighed to herself and walked on, intent on heading for her chambers to catch some shut-eye before they left for the Western Expanse in the morning. 

She was almost to the steps leading down from the wall when a small noise caught her attention. Isobel turned towards it and saw nothing, but she knew better than to believe that. Moving as quietly as she could manage, Isobel poked her head around a few crates and found Cole seated on the stone, a raven crouched on the ground in front of him--it must have been one of Leliana's birds. Cole turned to look at her sadly and, as it did every time he turned that look to her, her heart broke a little; she made no claims to understanding Cole, but she liked him and wanted to do whatever she could to help him, to protect him--as crazy as that might of been. 

"She's hurt," Cole said quietly. 

Isobel leaned closer to look at the bird. One leg and one wing were skewed to the side, and try as she might, she couldn't even get to her feet to get away, to get somewhere safe. When her and Grayson were little, they had rescued creatures from the grounds of the Trevelyan estate, much to the chagrin of their parents and the household staff. The critters had not always lived, but they'd done their best. Isobel had no intention of doing anything less now. "Keep her here, Cole, and I'll go get something so we can help her." 

He nodded, but his eyes were already back on the raven. 

Isobel hurried away, turning of up a crate, some soft cloth, thin pieces of wood, and a cup of water in relatively quick succession. When she returned to the top of the wall, she gently bound the pieces of wood around the raven's wing and leg, Cole hushing the creature as the Inquisitor worked, and managing to keep the bird calm enough to keep from injuring herself further. Isobel wasn't sure if such things would work, but a small smile took over Cole's face as they settled the bird into the nest of cloth inside the crate, and once they got the bird to Leliana... well, if anyone could make the bird fly again, it would be the redheaded spy. 

But they didn't move right away. Cole placed the water where the raven could easily reach it, and stroked two fingers lightly over the feathers on her head and back. Isobel watched as the raven closed her eyes and made a soft cooing noise; she hadn't even known ravens could make such noises. 

"I did not want her to die. It's not her time." 

"We'll take her to Leliana, but even she might not be able to make the raven fly again." Isobel tentatively reached out and stroked the bird's good wing. Cole smiled at her, a wider grin than normal. "I hope she can help though."

"There's so much pain. She misses the sky. She's scared."

"I can understand that." 

"You were scared too. When we came here. You told The Iron Bull you wanted to go home."

Isobel narrowed her eyes, trying to remember the conversation. She had long since stopped getting mad at Cole when he overheard something private. He had a way of being everywhere, and he heard everything, even the thoughts in someone's head, and privacy was not a concept he really understood. He meant no harm, and he meant his apologies when he gave them. Finally, it came to her: a private moment stolen when the Inquisition had been piling into Skyhold. Bull had noticed Isobel's panicked look and pulled her to the side to ask her what was wrong--that had been before they had started their physical relationship, before they'd begun to fall for one another. Isobel smiled at Cole. 

"I'm still scared sometimes," she admitted. 

Cole's eyes widened slightly as the weight of that admission dawned on him. Isobel was trusting him with that feeling. "Sometimes I am lost," he said, and Isobel knew he wasn't talking about navigating Skyhold. "Everyone moves so sure. So fast. This--" he gestured at the stone around him, "is sometimes new to me." Cole touched the bird's head again, his face disappearing into the shadows of his hat. "This I know. I can help, so I help."

"You just keep doing that, Cole. You have friends here who'll help you when you're lost." 

Cole gave her another wide smile. "You will help me."

"I will," Isobel said, getting to her feet. "Grab our friend there, and we'll take her up to Leliana. At the very least, I'm sure she'd like to be around other ravens." 

Cole picked up the crate gently and fell in step beside Isobel as they descended the stairs and crossed the lawn towards Skyhold's main entrance--what Cole called the "easy route." Isobel didn't ask how he would have gone had he been alone; everyone was allowed their secrets. 


	8. Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eden/Cullen (Cuden? Culden? Ellen? Who knows what their ship name is.) 
> 
> A chess match highlights the pivotal moment Eden and Cullen are at in their relationship.   
> (Eden is a warrior, champion specialization in contrast to Isobel who is a rogue, assassin specialization. Just FYI.)

Skyhold was bustling with activity as construction continued and more troops and refugees took shelter within the walls and the Inquisition's influence, but the garden was relatively quiet--just a few people milling about alone or in quiet conversation. The activity might have extended there, to the gazebo in the far corner, but the Inquisitor and Cullen were taking a much-needed break, and the others at Skyhold had learned to leave them to alone, not for any indelicate reasons, but both of them tended to not see anything beyond each other when they were together. 

Currently, they were engaged in a chess match, and Eden was leaning over the board, the tip of her tongue pressed between her teeth as she puzzled out her next move. A strand of red hair was hanging in front of her eyes, but she hadn't seemed to notice, though Cullen had. He leaned forward and brushed it away from her face, tucking it behind her ear and startling Eden. Her entire face, and her ears, flushed bright red, making her freckles stand out and her green eyes seem all the brighter. The shocked look on her face brought a small smile to Cullen's face, and Eden settled back in her chair, laughing quietly. 

"I am sorry," Cullen said, laughter in his voice. "I didn't mean to startle you." 

"It's okay, Commander." Eden's blush deepened and she turned her eyes back to the board in front of her. Cullen was winning, as per usual, but Eden felt she was giving him a run for his money this time; he and Dorian had been teaching her the game, and she was a capable student, but games of delicate strategy had never been the warrior's forte. "I, uh--it's okay," she said, moving one of her pawns across the board. 

She wished she could say something better, something more intelligent-sounding. Eden loved it when she could impress Cullen, or catch him off guard, but she was sorely lacking in the nerve needed to broach intimate subjects. Her relationship with Cullen was still new, still untested. They'd spent few hours alone and barely knew one another outside their professional roles, though they had both made it clear they wanted more.

For two people as shy as them though, it wasn't easy to get more. 

"You're getting better," Cullen said, moving one of his bishops and taking the pawn she'd just moved. 

She gave him a playful scowl. "Not good enough, it seems. You're still winning--kicking my ass, from the look of it. Dorian thinks you cheat."

"You can't cheat at chess."

"He's said that too, but he still maintains that you cheat. Somehow."

Cullen chuckled, the wholly innocent noise touching places in Eden it hadn't been intended to. She blushed again, and made a hasty move that resulted in another piece of hers being taken. 

"Don't be so hasty," he said with another laugh. "What are you blushing about now?"

His voice was tender, and wasn't pressing. Eden blushed frequently, and with her pale skin, it was hard to hide, so he'd gotten in the habit of asking, to make sure she wasn't angry or frustrated, and to find out if there was anything he could do to help. It was a peculiar relationship dynamic, but it was theirs, and Eden quite liked it; she liked that he cared about her enough to want to know what she was thinking, and to want to help her feel better if he could. 

"I was..." Eden's brow furrowed as she moved another piece. How could she answer the question? The answer would broach a subject they had't discussed, and bring them to a step in their relationship they might not be ready for. "Uh..."

Cullen moved from him chair across the table to the one directly to Eden's right, shifting the chair closer to her as he sat down. A warm breeze danced through the garden, around the pillars of the gazebo, and pulled more of Eden's hair from her loose ponytail. Cullen again reached forward to brush the hair from her face, but this time, his hand remained on her cheek, the touch light. 

"I was thinking about you," she whispered, leaning toward him. 

"Oh?" His voice was quiet too, huskier than it had been a moment before. 

Eden shifted in her chair so she could better reach Cullen. She slipped a hand around the back of his neck and her lips brushed his. He deepened the kiss in a hungry rush. A small moan escaped Eden's throat and she climbed into Cullen's lap, her smaller frame allowing her to fit well. Cullen's arm wound around her waist, the hand on her cheek sliding down her neck, across her shoulder, and down her side, caressing her curves. 

"Oh," he said as they parted. It was Cullen's turn to blush with the realization. 

"I don't... We haven't really talked about our relationship, Cullen, so, I, well, I don't really know what to do or say or--"

He hushed her with another quick kiss. "Eden, as far as I'm concerned, we've made our feelings for one another abundantly clear. If something has changed for you, or there's something you want..." His cheeks darkened farther, the light in his eyes turning hungry. "Do not be afraid to tell me." 

Eden felt a pleasant shiver works its way down her spine at the tone in his voice. She kissed him again, as deeply as before, her mind racing with the possibilities, with her desires. The time she had spent with Cullen was one of the few things keeping her happy, keeping her sane as she led the Inquisition, and they had reached a crossroads that could offer her much more, offer him much more. Offer them whatever they wanted and needed from each other.

When they finally did return to their chess match, neither Eden nor Cullen was really thinking about the game.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, where did that come from.


	9. Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isobel/Iron Bull - Bizzy (I'm sorry, I just love their ship name so much. I'm a huge dork.)
> 
> A standard sparring session brings some levity to what's been a rough week for the Inquisitor.

"You're putting too much weight on your front foot, Boss," Iron Bull said, knocking his foot against hers to illustrate his point.

Isobel stumbled forward, knocked off balance, but managed to keep from falling over. "Hand-to-hand combat has never been my thing." She righted herself and fell back into the stance she'd been taught, hands raised, but Bull was bigger, faster, more skilled, and stronger than her, and she knew it would be fruitless to entertain thoughts of victory. She'd never beaten him, not in all the time they'd been sparring. However, she did not back away. Sparring with Bull was one of the highlights of her off-time, one of the things that made her feel happy and free. "Give me my daggers and I'll show you a thing or two," she added, raising one eyebrow and smirking at the big qunari. 

He laughed, the noise deep and booming and easily blocked the assault she launched, knocking her hands away as if it were nothing. He barely moved. "I have never doubted your skills with a blade." 

The Inquisitor's smirk grew, and she knew her eyes were darkening with lustful thoughts. "Nor I yours," she purred. She moved within his striking range and managed to land a punch to his side, hitting hard enough to pull a grunt from Bull's throat; they didn't spare at full strength, but neither of them were against taking the occasional hit.

Bull laughed again, louder this time. He caught Isobel by the arm as she tried to dart away and spun her into him, her back to his chest, and wrapped one of his strong arms around her shoulders. He was holding her in such a way to pin her arms to her sides. The position also allowed him to put his mouth close to her ear.

"You had best be careful, Inquisitor. Someone could mistake the tone in your voice."

A shiver ran through Isobel. She inhaled sharply, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth and pressing harder against Bull. There was something about The Iron Bull that spoke to her, something that had been there since they'd met on the Storm Coast, and something that has recently led to an interesting physical relationship, the likes of which Isobel had never experienced before. He brought out sides of her personality she had long fought to keep hidden, and helped her discover needs, desires, and thoughts she hadn't even known were inside her. 

Their physical relationship had certainly turned their sparring matches more interesting, especially since their relationship was still a secret from everyone else in Skyhold.

Except for maybe Cole, but that was a worry for another time. 

Currently, Isobel's only thoughts were concerned with the heat of the qunari at her back, and the strength of his arm around her. 

"Nothing to mistake, Bull," she said, voice low. 

His teeth closed around the curve of her ear and he bit down hard enough to elicit the first responses of pain; after a month or so in his bed, the pain brought pleasure with it, and a small moan built in Isobel's throat. 

She luxuriated in the feeling for a heartbeat longer before she saw an opening and she took it. 

Isobel slammed her foot down on top of Bull's, and dropped out of his grasp when his hold lessened minutely. She tossed up her glamours that made her nearly undetectable and slipped behind Iron Bull, desperately trying not to laugh as he waited, ready for her assault. Sound would alert him to her position. If she was unlucky, smell would as well. Or, if she was careless, she could slip from cover and Bull would catch a quick glimpse of her. 

But her luck held, and Bull turned away from her. 

Isobel chose her moment and leapt onto his back, wrapping one arm around his shoulder and placing the other hand to his neck, mimicking the touch of a knife. "I win," she said in his ear, disengaging from her cover. 

In a move many would have considered too elegant and fluid for someone so large, Bull flipped Isobel over his horns and into his arms, immediately driving her into the ground, one hand at her throat. The impact pushed some of the air from her lungs, but he had controlled the attack and she was uninjured. 

"Don't be so sure of that, Izzy. Nice move, though." After holding the pose a moment longer, he helped her to her feet, squeezing her shoulder affectionately when she was standing again. They started walking over the grass, back towards the tavern. "You're getting better, Boss. We'll have you able to kill demons with your bare hands in no time."

Isobel laughed and bumped her shoulder against his arm as they walked. "I don't know about that." 

Bull's hand briefly touched the small of her back before moving to thump her higher up, a more platonic gesture. Isobel huffed. "Maybe not demons, but you'll beat me soon." 

"That I'll believe." 

Inside the tavern, they disengaged from one another, Bull going to talk to his Chargers, and Isobel heading to the bar. She bought a bottle of whiskey and then ascended the stairs. There was a room, connected to the tavern, that had not been claimed. It was at the base of one of the towers on the wall, but it had seen more wear than the similar rooms around the compound. There was a large hole in the ceiling, and the second level was unusable, so it went largely unused, but The Iron Bull and the Inquisitor had found a use for it. Isobel caught Bull's attention as she headed up to said room, and winked just before he looked away, a small smile on his face; he'd be up to join her in a few moments. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no idea how to describe the stealth ability. Is it glamour? Magic? A smoke bomb? Whaaaaat is happening.


	10. Rejection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris/Vega (They don't have a ship name either... Fega? Venris? Vegris? I'm bad at this.)
> 
> Their relationship's been full of ups and downs, but when Fenris walks out after they spend the night together, Vega isn't sure what to think.

The fire had died down to embers, but the room was still hot. Too hot. Vega kicked the blankets off and put her hands over her eyes, pressing her lips together over another groan. Her thoughts were a mess, and there was a tight ball of anger in her gut, and she had no way to get rid of it without waking everyone else in the house. By all rights, she should be sleeping soundly. By the once-pleasant ache between her legs, she should have been sleeping happily. But Fenris' departure had soured what should have been the best night she'd had in a long time. 

Fenris and her had grown steadily closer as time had gone on, especially after she had begun teaching him to read. Their fights had taken on a far more amicable nature, and though they still bickered, it was infinitely more playful. And private. Their companions had noticed a change in their relationship, since they mostly just talked about their current business, but if anyone had anything to say about it, they'd kept it to themselves. 

Wisely. 

When Fenris had come to her last night, Vega's heart had leapt into her throat. She'd wanted to move forward with Fenris for a long time--she'd come to look forward to their time together more than anything else, and she'd begun to see a side to Fenris that was happier, lighter, like he'd let go of something that had been holding him back--but she hadn't had any idea how to go about it. So, when Fenris had made that move... 

Vega rolled onto her stomach, the large tunic she was wearing twisting about her body, and shoved her face into the pillows so the ensuing groan would be as muffled as she could make it. 

Had she done something wrong?

Their night together had been wonderful, great, better than expected, better than Vega could have imagined. Fenris' lyrium tattoos had given him pain as she touched him, but it had only seemed to spur him on, and then they'd begun to glow and everything had taken on a magical air. His tattoos were an awful thing to have to bear, and the conditions in which he'd received them... But in those moments, they hadn't been such an evil thing. Even Fenris had said something about the light; Vega couldn't exactly remember what he'd said. 

When they'd parted and she'd curled up beside him, his arms strong around her, she'd thought everything was great. She'd even gone to sleep with a smile on her face. 

And then she'd woken up, and Fenris was leaving, his clothing and weapons back in place. 

Because he'd gotten flashes of his old life. 

Whatever that meant. 

Vega rolled back onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. Suddenly, the room was cold and Vega was shivering. She rolled out of bed, landing softly on her feet, and moved to stoke the fire. When the room was softly glowing again, she dropped to her butt on the floor, her back against the bed. 

Fenris had told her a lot about his life, more than he'd told anyone else, and she knew he struggled. She knew he had every reason to be hesitant, to pull away, especially when bombarded with images of a previous life that he didn't understand. She knew Fenris trusted her, cared about her, and that he felt bad about leaving when he had--she had heard it in his voice when he said he was sorry. But that didn't help. Knowing everything she did didn't make it any easier for Vega to take the rejection. It wasn't personal, but as much as Vega told herself that, it still felt like it might have been her fault in some way and Fenris just wasn't saying as much. But she couldn't blame him. She couldn't be mad at him.

She was mad at herself, at Denarius, at whoever had helped to take Fenris' life from him. She was mad at the whole situation. She was mad that she couldn't make Fenris happy without causing him pain. That he couldn't be happy without pain and confusion.

Vega drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, holding tight. She put her chin on her knees and watched the flame dance, clenching her jaw repeatedly and fighting the urge to scream. 


	11. Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen/Eden
> 
> Some things are too hard to think about. 
> 
> (Sorry this one took so long. It gave me some grief.)

Eden was lying beside him, nearly still as death. Her chest rose and fell in a deep, slow tempo, and every few breaths, her lips would twitch every so slightly. Cullen studied her form in the dim light of the dawn: one hand resting on her stomach on top of the blanket, the other flung above her head, tangled in her red hair. The freckles dusting her nose and cheeks stood out against her flushed skin. She was beautiful. Cullen had always thought so. 

But he didn't see her as such then. He was still seeing the way she'd appeared in his dream. His nightmare. 

She was still lying beside him, but she was completely still, her green eyes dull and sightless, and the sheets below her soaked with blood. The red spread out toward him across the cotton, trickled down Eden's pale flesh from the gaping wounds on her chest and stomach. Claw marks. Teeth marks. 

He'd had the dream every night since she'd begun hunting the high dragons terrorizing various corners of Thedas. She knew how to fight, and she was skilled and strong, but she had a reckless streak a mile wide, especially when it came to combat, and had been close to death more times than Cullen cared to think about. Knowing his affections for the Inquisitor, Cassandra and Dorian, Eden's closest friends, had promised to do what they could to keep her alive, but there was only so much that could be done. Eden never slowed when there was a threat. 

Cullen had never expected to fall in love with the woman who had fallen from the Rift, with the woman who would become the Inquisitor, but now he couldn't imagine his life without her, and the thought that she might not come back... 

He woke every night after the dream with tears in his eyes and pain in his heart. 

The former Templar rolled onto his back and threw an arm over his eyes, blocking out the light. He sighed, felt tears pushing at his eyes again, but he did not let them fall. 

"Cullen?"

He uncovered his face and turned his head to the side to find Eden's emerald eyes, blurred with sleep, looking at him with concern in her features. "Did I wake you?" he asked, rolling onto his side to better face her. 

"No." Eden rolled onto her side as well, shuffled closer to entwine her legs with his. With the fingertips of one hand, she traced his cheek, the line of his jaw, the corner of his lips. "What's the matter?" she asked. 

"It's nothing."

Eden's hand slid up to cup the side of his face, her thumb running back and forth along his cheek. He turned his face into the contact, nuzzling the tip of his nose against her palm. "Don't give me that," Eden said. Her voice was still quiet, private, but there was a distinct air of command in her tone. "What is bothering you?"

Cullen sighed again, the pain in his chest amplifying as he forced his thoughts back to the last outcome he wanted to dwell on. "Ever since you've begun hunting dragons, I keep dreaming of waking up to find you dead beside me, torn apart. I..." He reached out and placed a hand over her heart, just to feel it beat. "I am terrified whenever you're gone that you won't come back, or that they'll bring back only your body--"

Eden moved across the bed until they were touching along their lengths, legs fully entwined. She slipped an arm about his waist, and pressed her face to his neck, lips brushing across his skin. Cullen inhaled a long and shaking breath, those tears finally beginning to fall. Eden hugged him tightly, her free arm pressed between them. She breathed deep, inhaling his scent, and he kissed her head softly, wrapping his arms about her the best he could. For a while they lay like that, Skyhold awaking around them, and Cullen let himself feel the sorrow the dream, the thought of Eden dying, brought him. 

"I will not let any dragon take me away from you, Cullen," Eden said, the same air of command back in her voice. Her words vibrated against his throat and Cullen smiled against her hair, the tears still wet on his cheeks.


End file.
